Chapter 2

The restaurant was on the top floor in Midtown, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline.

I was seated on Silas's right; Camilla on his left.

They leaned in close, speaking in hushed tones about a turf war at the Westside docks. No one could interrupt them.

My stomach was already cramping from eating nothing all day, but looking at the endless plates of seafood in front of me, I couldn't take a single bite.

Silas expertly peeled a large shrimp and placed it on Camilla's plate.

"Your shoulder is hurt. It's hard with one hand," he explained without looking up, as if justifying it to me.

Camilla smiled sweetly. "Thank you, Don Silas."

Sitting across from us, Marco, his Underboss, raised his glass at me and teased, "Why isn't the future Donna drinking tonight? You're usually the best at keeping the Don company."

"My stomach hurts," I said softly. "I'm passing on the drinks."

Silas let out a low chuckle, turning to me. His tone was intimate but laced with blame. "Is your stomach actually hurting, or are you just throwing a tantrum again?"

The whole table laughed.

Camilla kept her head down, a faint smirk on her lips.

My grip tightened around my water glass.

The only reason I could drink back then was because I took bullet after bullet for him at social events, downing glasses meant for him. That was how I ruined my stomach.

Just last week, the doctor warned me that one more shot of hard liquor could rupture my stomach lining.

The emotions I had swallowed all night finally boiled over.

"Silas. Do you even remember what Dr. Hayes told me last week?"

He paused, frowning. "What did he say?"

He really forgot.

I forced a hollow smile and pushed my chair back. "Enjoy your meal."

I pushed open the private room doors and walked out.

The moment I reached the ground floor, I couldn't hold back the violent nausea anymore. I threw up.

Nothing but stomach acid, streaked with blood.

I dragged myself back to the penthouse I shared with Silas, dug out my stomach pills, and dry-swallowed them.

A bitter taste coated my throat.

At 1 AM, the penthouse door clicked open.

Silas walked in smelling of alcohol, his tie hanging loosely around his neck.

He paused when he saw me sitting in the dark, pale as a ghost.

"You're still awake?"

He walked over, sat next to me, and pulled me into his arms like he always did.

I could smell Camilla's perfume on him.

"Scarlett," he murmured. "I know things were rough for you today. I'm sorry. But I didn't forget—tomorrow is our four-year engagement anniversary. I've rented a yacht. Just the two of us."

My stupid heart softened. I thought he had forgotten.

"...Okay."

He kissed my forehead gently and smiled. "Good girl."

The next morning, Silas left early. I spent the entire afternoon getting ready, excited for the boat trip.

I thought maybe he’d prepared the irises I loved, or that ring I had been eyeing for ages...

I even hired a makeup artist. She looked at me in the mirror and sighed, "The boss is going to be speechless tonight."

I waited until 8 PM. The sky went completely dark.

Silas finally called. The background noise was chaotic, his voice rushed. "Scarlett, Camilla got ambushed at the docks. They're heavily outnumbered. I have to go."

I gripped my phone, saying nothing.

"Go to sleep early," he added, not waiting for my reply. "I'll make up the anniversary to you some other time."

He hung up.

I sat in front of the mirror in my silver-gray dress, diamond earrings, and perfectly styled hair.

God, what an absolute idiot.

I laughed bitterly at myself and began stripping off the jewelry, piece by piece.

That was when I noticed a stack of documents on Silas's desk.

At the bottom right corner of every single page were two signatures: Silas Vance and Camilla Rossi.

Side by side. Perfectly aligned. Like husband and wife.

And buried at the very bottom of the pile, utterly ignored, was the wedding binder I had spent three sleepless nights designing.

There was no need for him to open it anyway. Because I wasn't going to marry him.